Earth Borne Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Rachael Slate

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  First Edition March 2016

  Edited by Kelley Heckart

  Cover design by NovelArt Designs

  Formatting by NovelArt Designs

  ISBN 978-0-9948764-3-0

  Steel yourself.

  As a nymph, she’s fashioned for seduction

  Melita is married to the centaur, Lord Thereus. Or at least she pretends to be. The ruse has been easy, until the presumed deceased Thereus returns. To save his lands, she committed treason. But that isn’t the worst of her secrets. To protect her heart from the lethally charming Thereus, she’ll have to risk claiming his.

  No one has ever tamed him

  Thereus was once as wild as the stallion half of his body. And just as stubborn. He never wished for a wife, but the woman he returns to has changed. She’s become…irresistible. Despite his attraction, Thereus doesn’t intend to stay. After he collects his army, he’ll be off to war. Yet as his passion for her burns as deep as her secrets, he’ll have to fight for the one thing he faked his death to escape…and now just might not be able to live without.

  The path of truth is wound with hidden desires

  Melita’s shadowed past holds a secret that could shatter the centuries-old peace between centaurs and Lapiths. But trusting her heart to Thereus isn’t a risk Melita is willing to take twice, even though he swears he’s now more wicked than wild. As her enemies close in on the truth, Melita and Thereus will have to choose between protecting her race…and saving his.

  When the Olympian gods overthrew the Titans, they divided the rule of the world. Zeus proclaimed himself Supreme Ruler and governed the skies. Poseidon claimed the oceans. The Underworld, and the souls of the dead, fell to Hades. All were content with the arrangement.

  Until Hades met Persephone.

  Their forbidden love blasted through Mt. Olympus, initiating a cataclysmic rift between the gods. The unbalance in the heavens nearly shattered the fragile human world below. In punishment, Zeus cursed Persephone. Nine months of each year, she would remain by her mother’s side, tending to the human harvests. The other three months were hers to spend with her husband, Hades, in the Underworld.

  The arrangement pleased none.

  Centuries have passed. As humans turn their devotion to Science, the powers of the Olympian gods diminish. In an attempt to regenerate their divinity, the gods have procreated, breeding new species of being—such as centaurs, winged ones, and mermaydes. With the unique strengths of their individual godly parents, these descendants have thrived in their own worlds, alongside humans but hidden from view.

  The rift in Olympus widens as the gods gain new strength. When the Fates intervene with a damning wager, these descendants become the answer to Persephone’s curse. Hades and Persephone’s quest to reclaim their love will pit god against god, in a tournament unmatched since time began. Victory lies in the union of warriors—exceptional females who control the elements and the males whose love will make them strong.

  If they succeed, love will be theirs to claim.

  But if they fail, their love will fall to ruin.

  It is the eve of war, and the battle for the power of the Earth begins now.

  Centaur lands, Thessaly

  Year 1384 of the reign of King Cheiron II

  Or the human year, 1689

  The green flag atop the highest tower of Westgard castle flapped in the wind, taunting her. Paralyzed, Melita’s blood iced, freezing her muscles as solid as marble. Her heart, however, had a different idea as it beat viciously within the confines of her chest.

  “He’s returned.” The words escaped her tongue, barely a whisper. Could it be that he hadn’t died in the shipwreck, as her friend Alkippe suspected? Though she’d always feared this day could come, the shock was enough to solidify her limbs. She’d dreaded this moment—no, she’d been petrified of his return for five long years. Each day she awoke, wondering if this day might be her last.

  Greet my fate with the dignity of the Lady I’m pretending to be…

  Or run?

  Melita sank to her knees in the field she was tending, her teeth biting deep into her lower lip. Even if his reappearance meant her death, which it certainly did, she wouldn’t flee and abandon her son. She would beg them for a chance to say goodbye. Better a mother who died bravely for her sins than one who discarded her child. She grimaced at the pain such circumstances had bored into her heart and vowed never to inflict that fate upon her child.

  Besides, she had little to gain from fleeing. She had nowhere to go. Her husband, along with every other male in this land, would hunt her relentlessly. She’d need a miracle from Demeter to outrun and hide from him.

  For he was a centaur.

  Her blood pumped hotly through her veins, melting the marble ice of her body as she forced her breathing to calm. Melita shielded her eyes from the setting sun and squinted in the direction of Westgard, hoping she’d been mistaken. No, it was still there. The verdant flag, with the crest of Cheiron—an owl with scales—stamped onto it, signaled the occupancy of the castle’s Lord.

  Excusing herself from the others in the field, she rose and treaded forward, toward the Meteora of Westgard Castle. Six precipitous cliffs—the Meteora—lay scattered throughout the centaur lands, with the King’s high seat at Great Meteoron in the center. Atop each perched a castle as ancient as the rocks themselves.

  The setting sun painted an orange and pink glow across the grey masonry of Westgard. The village below was nestled in for the evening, smoke wafting from the stone cottages. She peered at the castle, possibly for the last time. The view blurred with her memories of her first glimpse. She cherished this place, this home. Well, only one word described both the estate and its Lord.

  Magnificent.

  Every time she closed her eyes, Thereus’s image tormented her. She sighed as the memory of the tiny laugh lines around his deep green eyes flashed through her mind. Those depths haunted her. They’d torn her soul apart the moment his dismissive gaze had first passed over her.

  Enough. Her decision had been made, years ago. After brushing the dust from her plain brown dress and wiping her face with a handkerchief, she took one step in the direction of the castle. And then another. Toward her fate. Toward her husband.

  Only, she wasn’t his wife.

  ***

  Your time will come soon, Lord Thereus, son of Cheiron. Steel yourself. The goddess Persephone’s voice echoed relentlessly in his mind as his hooves pounded the soft earth. Until this point, he’d done a fairly good job of suppressing his tumultuous memories of those days. He’d become a new entity. There were times when he believed he’d left his shame in the past. Then there were those pesky nights when he awoke, sweaty and trembling, tortured by a mahogany-haired nymph’s hot kisses.

  Thereus hastened his pace, sprinting through the dense forest toward Westgard. Uncertain of his welcome, he’d anchored the Adrasteia—Arsenius’s brigantine—and her crew on the shore of Thessaly. The castle rested fifty miles from the coast where they’d landed. With two sets of hearts and lungs, centaurs had the advantage of being much faster than ordinary horses. Already, he’d crossed most of the distance. Westgard lay up ahead.

  Whistling, Thereus slowed his pace and adjusted his dark leather vest, rechecking the daggers hidden along his body. He was
clearly out of his right mind to come back. Yet ever since the goddess uttered those words, it was as though he’d been cast under a spell.

  Her spell.

  Though Persephone hinted, he would never have returned to his homeland for the woman. Arsenius asked him to recruit centaur warriors for the goddess’s war. There wasn’t anything he would deny his best friend, and the man who’d saved his life five years earlier.

  Prior to that fateful night, he’d committed a horrendous sin, and so very selfishly he’d fled his homeland. Not because of what he’d done, but because of who he didn’t wish to become. He’d never sought to be Lord of anything. He’d never wished to be wed, and certainly not to a female who became physically ill at the sight of him.

  His family devised other plans for him. As descendants of the great and famously wise Cheiron, it was the responsibility of Thereus and his brothers to carry on their honorable centaur line. Since female centaurs were rare, in centuries past, the gods bound their species to an exceptional race of humans called Lapiths. Whether this was an intelligent move was yet to be determined.

  In his mind, it was a curse that ripped his heart from his chest each night.

  None of this mattered, for his wife was surely long gone. The ship he’d fled on five years ago had wrecked. He would have been presumed dead.

  Gutless bastard that he was, he’d never sent word otherwise.

  The castle came into view, grey stones breaking through the tops of the trees. As he trotted past the tree line, toward the Portal, he steadied his resolve to face the fate Persephone had warned him was coming.

  I am home. He’d actually returned. Thereus craned his neck, staring fifteen hundred feet up toward his castle. For five decades, he’d been Lord and Master at Westgard, but he was unworthy of any sense of pride. Not after what he’d done.

  Squinting, he spotted the family’s crest, an owl with a set of scales, swaying proudly from banners high on the towers—signaling his occupancy. Of course. Thereus snorted. Nothing, nothing, happened in his father’s lands without Cheiron’s knowledge.

  The trees blurred for an instant, and from their midst stepped… My brother?

  Thereus swallowed hard as Lord Agrius, a man more like a father than a brother to him, strode forward. His horse half—a smoky black—trotted in a measured pace as disbelief, bewilderment, and hurt flashed across Agrius’s pewter-grey eyes.

  A few steps away, he halted, shaking his head and snorting. “I did not believe it. Not even when Father sent me here to greet you.”

  Every speech he’d prepared in his mind retreated, ebbing from his tongue like the tide. Thereus valued this male’s good opinion more than any other’s, even Arsenius’s. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he swept a hand to rake back his damp locks. His gut churned and every ounce of confidence he’d mustered retreated from his body, leaving him weaker than a lad gaining sea legs.

  He could have faced any of his brothers, or even his father, but not Agrius. Not Agrius.

  “Yet here you are.” Agrius’s brows pinched together, his eyes misting. “I care not how or why, but I thank the gods you are returned to me.” He leapt forward and crushed Thereus in his embrace. After a few minutes, he pulled away. “How is it that you’re alive?”

  The pain in his question stabbed into Thereus. He scraped his hand across the back of his neck, all of the fantastical tales and arguments he’d fashioned slipping from his mind. “The truth? I ran off. Made a new life for myself, one I controlled.” He straightened his shoulders and feigned an air of confidence.

  Agrius sniffed. “No, that’s not the truth, but I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.” Clapping Thereus on the shoulder and sighing, he strode away, calling over his shoulder, “Welcome home, brother.”

  Damn. He pinched the bridge of his nose. If Agrius didn’t believe his stories, would anyone? This mission was going to prove far more difficult than he’d ever conceived.

  Collecting himself, he stepped through the shimmering, gilded arch that functioned as a Portal, and prepared to greet his past. The dizziness in his head and buzzing in his ears lasted but a few seconds. He shook it off, nodded toward the two gaping guards, and proceeded into the throne chamber.

  As he inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh-cut blossoms—honeysuckle, his favorite—permeated the air. A dozen of his staff had lined up to greet him. He’d had the intention to sneak into his home, snare a few personal items, and bathe before venturing to his father’s castle, but this welcome was like that of a King returned from war.

  The sole person missing was his wife. Thank the gods for that.

  His housekeeper, a matronly centauress named Alkippe, rushed toward him. “My Lord. Praise the gods for your safe return to us.” Though the frame of her grey mare was no match for his breadth and height, her formidable presence commanded the room.

  He might be Lord, but she’d also been his nursemaid, so he bent to allow her kisses to fall on both his cheeks. Straightening, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze from her piercing stare. Damn, this was awkward.

  “Ah, you must be looking for Lady Kalliste.” Alkippe smoothed the front of her long-sleeved verdant cape. “She will be in momentarily, I assure you.”

  He froze. Had he heard her correctly? As he regarded the centauress, no hint of a jest sparkled in her silver eyes.

  Ah, hell, no. My wife? What in Hades is she doing here? Raking his fingers through his locks, he paced the chamber. The same woven tapestries depicting grand battle scenes hung from the stone walls. A large fire burned in the hearth, spreading a flickering glow of warmth across the chamber. Two obsidian thrones graced the far end, shimmering in the firelight.

  Upon reaching one corner, his hooves insisted on pacing to the other. He’d never been praised for his ability to remain still, and such patience was unlikely to make an appearance now. He’d had plenty of time to ruminate on the fifty-mile run. Plenty of time to culture his anxiety. Alkippe’s revelation sent his nerves overboard. His stomach was in knots, like those tied by sailors learning the trade. Malformed and far too loose, they threatened to come apart at any moment, just like him.

  The Portal shimmered and a maiden strolled into his Great Hall. Her honey scent blasted through him. His wife had carried a faint trace of sweet nectar, yet this fragrance overpowered the scent he remembered. At once, his mouth went dry and he was infinitely grateful for the impotence of his centaur form.

  Mine. The word reverberated in his mind, followed by the dark bonding spices perfuming from his pores. Had his head been clear, he might’ve been embarrassed that the centaurs amongst his staff could scent it. As it was, he cared for nothing except the goddess in front of him. How had he forgotten such beauty? Her torn brown dress was of an inexpensive cotton and smudged with dirt, as were her cheek and brow. The fabric clung to her, accentuating her softer, rounder curves. Her dark brown hair was also uncharacteristically disheveled. Yet her eyes, matching the color of her hair, were as bright and intelligent, her skin as creamy, as he recollected.

  Thereus stared, unable to come to terms with the fact that he’d left this creature. He’d been a fool, and he’d not be one twice.

  Across the chamber from him, she froze, a sharply indrawn breath escaping her before she curtseyed. “My Lord.”

  So formal, too formal. He wasn’t a Lord, had never been one. His animal half roared in protest. He craved nothing more than to shift into human form, sweep up her skirt, and take her, in front of everyone. Thereus reined him in hard, arguing the case of civility. Still, he couldn’t bear such distance between them.

  In a few swift steps, he was at her side. “Is that any way to greet your long-lost husband, dear wife?” He grinned at her before gathering her in his arms and ravishing her with a kiss. She gasped at his forwardness but to his shock and delight, she didn’t protest his kiss, as had been her way. Her sweet tongue met his with timid passion, her body becoming soft as butter in his arms. He tangled one hand in her dark locks, the other car
essing her cheek. While he would love for this kiss to last forever, he was on the verge of losing control of his horse. There were only two options: end this or throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest dark corner.

  While the latter appealed to him the most, he was unsure of her willingness. Another odor mixed in with her sweet fragrance. Experience told him it must be her repulsion, as it had been with Kalliste. His keen sense of smell denoted no repugnance as he drank her in. Only lust, and the sharp note of fear. Dear gods, she was afraid of him. Had he mistaken her eagerness? Was he still a monster to her?

  He wrenched his lips from hers, chest heaving.

  Damn, why the hell did I come back?

  Thereus’s kiss was so ardent that a tear escaped her eye. He was alive. For one glorious moment, he’d held her again and Melita pretended his tenderness was for her. Though it had been so wrong, she’d indulged in his taste, in his dark masculine scent, and in the strength of his arms. Had she one request before she died, this would have been it.

  Thereus was even more magnificent than she recalled. His centaur half was robust, larger than any horse she’d ever imagined. His human half was no less intimidating. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t hard, pure muscle. Though she was a tall woman, in the land of centaurs, the males towered above her. Even Thereus must be at least seven or eight inches taller than her. He hadn’t changed at all, her beautiful, perfect male. How massive he was, how powerful.

  Thereus’s jaw was cut square and sharp, his features as sleek and refined as the midnight black of his horse coat. His piercing emerald eyes, lined with thick dark lashes to make any woman sigh in envy, never failed to draw her in. The roguish grin often curling one corner of his mouth, and the resultant dimple in his right cheek, softened the intimidation of his brawny form. He wore naught but a leather vest tonight, and the endless rippling of muscles along his chest provoked her nymph half.